


Holiday

by PFL (msmoat)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-25
Updated: 2008-09-25
Packaged: 2017-11-10 17:24:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/468804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmoat/pseuds/PFL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holiday. Is it an escape? A fantasy? Or is it, maybe, a heart's desire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holiday

He absorbed the sun, right down into his bones. It was never like this in England, even on the rare, really hot day. Here, on this Greek beach, it was all white heat, sand, and rock--and the sun burning through to his core.

"You're going to fry, like Icarus."

Doyle kept his eyes closed. "Melt. And it wasn't him."

"Eh?"

"His wings melted, not him." He felt the shadow as Bodie came to stand beside him. If he opened his eyes, he'd see him--and it was a sight to behold. Bodie, dressed in nothing but black spandex; water glistening on his body; smelling of the sea. His skin was still as white as the cliffs that rose behind them--except where Doyle had marked him. Praxiteles might have sculpted him--the warrior at rest, his strength preserved in marble. But he'd be warm under Doyle's hands, alive--

Doyle opened his eyes, and blinked in the searing light. There was darkness in the center--Bodie--

_Pedant_.

He heard Bodie's voice--filled with humour; filled with affection. They'd made love in the night, after the breeze had cooled the cottage, and darkness had enveloped them in their own world. He'd tasted Bodie, and traced the contours of his body, felt his weight and his strength, and his need. Bodie was rock solid in body and spirit--a contrast to his own more mercurial temperament. How he'd come to depend on him, need him--

"--Doyle." Cowley's voice was low, filled with immeasurable grief. "It's time, lad."

No. He closed his eyes to shut out the sight: Bodie's skin still white, but the warmth gone. Muscles that held no power, no strength. Eyes that stared and saw nothing. Nothing. _No_.

_Do it, Doyle_. And it was Bodie again, so clear in his mind. He was always impatient, except on the job--eager for pleasure; intolerant of sentiment, of cowardice. Duty came first. _We signed on for the job_. One last duty, then. And he'd fly free, directionless, too close to the sun without his anchor. He'd burn, and be glad of it.

One holiday. One fucking holiday. And the last barriers between them had dropped, left behind with duty and discipline and the ever present violence of their lives. Santorini had welcomed them--two amongst hundreds, unnoticed in the crowd. His arm had brushed against Bodie's, and Bodie hadn't pulled away. In their cottage, the slant of the setting sun had set ablaze the blue in Bodie's eyes. Bodie had walked across the room to him--power and grace intertwined. Bodie had cursed and smiled as he'd taken Doyle's mouth. There had been no hesitation, no holding back, for either of them. All that they were, all that had been built between them had come out. At last, at last. One time; one holiday; one bloody moment away--

And then a second moment, filled with violence and blood and gutting despair. He'd reached Bodie, and the body that had been so generous in pleasure, that had responded to his slightest touch, had been still. Pale skin had been streaked with scarlet. And his heart--that proud heart--had been silent. As it had never been before, even in refusal.

_We signed on for the job. We can't have both_.

_We can_.

"I can't." Bodie was steady, sure--and sometimes implacable.

"Bodie." Cowley's voice wrapped around Doyle's own.

"Ray?" He'd never heard Bodie so defenceless, so revealing--not on holiday, not that night, not in life. The sun beckoned, the seductive heat of immolation. Warm fingers rested on the back of his hand. Warm. Not his then, not-- The fingers closed around his hand, tightly, painfully. "For God's sake, Ray."

And it seemed for a moment his own heart stopped. The universe paused. _Stop all the clocks_...

"You stupid git." He felt a tremor in the hand that gripped his.

He opened his eyes to light and shadow. He could detect no pattern, resolve no image, but he knew the fingers that held his. "Bodie?" His voice was a croak. He remembered screaming. He tried to move, but he couldn't.

"Ssh. Lie still."

"You're dead." Tears filled his eyes, soothing the burn, but obscuring the light. He blinked and turned his head.

"Bodie." Cowley again. This must be real. "The doctor said--"

"In a fucking minute. Ray, I'm not dead."

"Your...heart."

"Stopped. But they got it going again."

"I don't...." Light, he remembered light--like the sun. It burned.

"You got them out, Ray. The hostages are safe."

The job. He'd done the job. He hadn't cared. He moved his head. "You're...."

Bodie's hand tightened on his. "I'm here. I'm alive. I'll recover; so will you. We'll be fine."

_We'll be fine_. Back home. Back to normal. Back to the pain of dying a little every day. "Rather have...the sun."

"Then you'll have it. We'll go back to Santorini. We'll go any damn place you want."

He tried to pull his hand away, but Bodie held tight. "Cowley."

"It doesn't matter."

"Can't...see."

"You will." There was no doubt in his voice. "You'll live."

"Bodie." Cowley again, and his voice was hushed, as if choked.

"Don't you fucking leave me, Ray."

"No." He tried to turn his hand, but Bodie's grip was too tight. "Hard." So damn hard to be with him. He closed his eyes.

"It's easy. You and me." There was movement in the room--other voices. Bodie's tone sharpened. "Ray!"

"The...job."

"Has taken enough. Fuck the job. Just you and me."

He forced his eyes open, and this time he saw more--colours and shapes. Shadow that surrounded white and blue.

"Mr Bodie, you must leave now." A new voice.

"Please, Ray?" He'd never heard Bodie sound like that.

"Fear." It was fear speaking.

"Mr Cowley--"

"No. Sense." And now Bodie's voice was like an anchor settling onto bedrock.

He was finally able to move his hand, and turned it within Bodie's grasp. "Guilt."

"No. Certainty." Steady, sure, and sometimes implacable. "A permanent holiday."

He gripped Bodie's hand, although his fingers lacked strength. "Yeah, all right, then." His eyes closed. The sun would welcome them, but so would the wind, and the rain. Winter, summer, spring, and autumn. Together.

"I'll be here when you wake."

And he would wake.

END

_September 2008_

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Discovered on a Summer Holiday challenge for the Discovered in a LJ community.


End file.
